


Waiting at Eternity's Edge

by Silver_setting_sun



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (Former) Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Exile, Fist Fights, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Identity Issues, M/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Post-War, Romantic Gestures, Rough Sex, Self-Discovery, Self-Reflection, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve Fingering (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_setting_sun/pseuds/Silver_setting_sun
Summary: In the wake of war came many things- anger, distrust, disappointment, negotiations and eventual exile. Shouldering half the blame for his peoples’ near destruction and forced to live out the rest of his days offworld with his former archenemy, Optimus makes the best of the situation.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 71
Kudos: 305





	1. Chapter 1

_Two days, eighteen hours, three minutes_ _he’d spent on this planet_

Optimus sighed, buried his helm in his hands and surrendered to the guilt, sadness and exhaustion bubbling up within him. He’d been sitting in the ship since the beginning of the day cycle- six hours his chronometer told him.

The mechanism had been spitting data at him non-stop since they’d arrived. Every nanoklick was recorded and thrown at Optimus relentlessly. It was a strange little quirk of Cybertronian biology. When anxious, unsure, or simply waiting for something to occur, the chronometer would give information without prompting.

_Two days, eighteen hours, six minutes_

Optimus dropped his helm lower and his vents hiccupped noisily in anguish. It was as if all the uncertainty, despair and tangle of other painful emotions were suddenly at the surface. 

It was a display of weakness that Optimus rarely indulged in during the war, even in private.

But now with Megatron having left the ship, Optimus found himself with a rare moment. One in which he was both alone and had no one relying upon him. 

No. No one need rely on him anymore. Optimus vents hiccupped again at that thought. The end of the war came from a ceasefire, followed by a peace treaty made between him and Megatron. At the time it seemed too good to be true: The two factions coming together to rebuild Cybertron and their species. 

But as the situation became less dire and neutrals began returning to the planet, arguments over proper repercussions began. War crimes were committed. That was an undeniable fact of the Cybertronian war. What was much harder to answer was who would be held responsible.

The Autobots blamed the Decepticons and called for Megatron’s execution. The Decepticons blamed the Autobots; demanding the death of Optimus Prime for retribution. The Neutrals accused both leaders and ultimately, arranged the punishment.

Optimus Prime and Megatron were to be exiled from Cybertron. 

The suggestion was met with strong support, and it was only then that Optimus realized how much he and Megatron had lost control of the situation and of public approval.

Once it was decided, Optimus was given three days to get his affairs in order and say his goodbyes. Then he and Megatron were shipped off to an unnamed planet in the Hydraxus planetary system.

The ship’s engine locked after landing, leaving them permanently stranded unless the new Cybertronian government authorized their travel. The ship acted as their home, complete with a supply of energon, a washrack and communication system. 

The heavily monitored communication system was only to be used to contact Cybertron when their energon stores got low. In that case, a spacecraft would be sent to drop off more. All other calls remained strictly forbidden. 

_Two days, nineteen hours, thirty minutes_

“Prime?” 

Optimus jolted at Megatron’s voice coming through the door.

Without waiting for a response, Megatron opened it and made his way inside. He caught sight of Optimus hunched over and immediately paused, whatever he planned to say getting caught in his vocalizer. 

They stared at each other for a moment, Optimus taking in the appearance of his cellmate. Since his reframing, Megatron was significantly less powerful. His streamlined bulk and powerful armor had been replaced with a simple blocky design. Instead of black armor and purple biolights, he stood there with grey and black plating. 

Still, even with the downgrade, he exuded confidence and strength. He still possessed a sturdy frame with familiar strong features and red optics. 

Realizing they had been staring at one another for far too long, Optimus tried to speak. Instead of words, a blare of static fell from his mouth. Mortified, Optimus cleared his vocalizer and tried again. 

“Do you need something?”

Megatron’s lip curled. “Never mind,” he said. “You’re clearly dealing something right now, Prime.” With that, he turned and walked out, leaving Optimus feeling utterly pathetic. 

_Four days, seven hours, eight minutes_

He and Megatron spent as much time apart as possible. They didn’t speak unless necessary and Megatron spent the majority of his time outside of the ship. 

Optimus considered going outside, but found himself making excuses at every opportunity. To leave the ship would be to acknowledge this planet as his new reality. And to do that would be admitting that he’d never see Cybertron again. 

_Ten days, twenty-one hours, five minutes_

A loud shrill shriek pierced the air, pulling Optimus from recharge. In seconds he was perfectly alert. He grabbed his blaster and quickly followed the noise to the outside of the ship.

The sky was pitch black, indicating the planet to be in its night cycle. Hurrying down the ship’s ramp, Optimus reset his optics, trying to better see his surroundings. 

It was the first time he had set pede on the planet’s surface, but that was ultimately overshadowed by the commotion.

The shriek sounded again, this time accompanied by an angry battle cry. Optimus instantly recognized it as Megatron’s. Optimus squinted and could make out a huge darkened figure in the distance. 

Shifting into vehicle mode, Optimus tore off in that direction. The closer he got, the more he could decipher what was occurring. 

Standing next to an enormous body of water- a lake, was Megatron and something writhing around.

The figure was an enormous worm-like creature. It was long and thick with a tough looking segmented shell. Three beady black eyes traveled along each side of the creature’s face above where its flat head split into a mouth full of thin sharp teeth.

Megatron was currently in the process of trying to stab the thing to death. 

Just as Optimus arrived, the creature lunged forward, its jaws wide open. Megatron took the opportunity. He dropped his blade, pulled a blaster out of seemingly nowhere, and shot it into the thing’s gaping maw. 

The creature’s skull blew open with a squelch. Its body fell and Megatron had to jump out of the way to avoid being crushed. 

A wave of sticky goo shot out from the body, coating Optimus completely. Disgusted, Optimus just stood there as the goo seeped into his seams. 

A hearty laugh brought Optimus’s attention back to Megatron, who had somehow gotten away without a drop of the creature’s internals on him. 

“If I hadn’t been divested of my fusion cannon, this would have been cleaner, but I can’t say I mind.” Megatron gave Optimus a once over. “You look good like that, Prime. Being covered in organic filth suits you.” 

Trying to regain some semblance of dignity, Optimus straightened. “What happened?” he demanded.

“I was out here trying to recharge when whatever it is,” Megatron pointed at the creature, “came along. It started producing some truly awful noises, so I hit it to get it to quiet down. It took exception to that and you saw the rest.” 

Optimus felt a blaze of fury. It was the first emotion other than misery he’d experienced since coming here and it felt absolutely magnificent.

“So you provoked it,” Optimus growled. 

Megatron shrugged lazily and smirked. The nonchalance in that gesture infuriated Optimus further.

He stalked up to Megatron and jabbed him in the chest with a digit. 

“What is the matter with you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

The grin fell off of Megatron’s faceplates and a sneer appeared in its place. “Of course not. What kind of weakling do you take me for?”

“Then what?” Optimus snarled. “Did you simply want to relive the thrill of killing innocents. To feel a life gutter under your hands once more and revel in your power to cause pain. Does that make you happy, Megatron? Does that senseless violence bring you enjoyment?”

Megatron bared his denta angrily and slapped Optimus’s hand away. 

Emboldened, Optimus shoved the digit back into Megatron’s chest. “The war is over, Megatron! Our factions are over, the death and destruction and brutality is over. Our time is over, Megatron! Why do you still insist on fighting?” 

Megatron grabbed Optimus’s hand. Optimus tried to pull back, but Megatron held it in place with a tight, painful grip. 

“You accuse me of mindless violence,” snarled Megatron. “But at least I've not sunken to your level. I still fight. I have not sat down and given up in despair, you coward!”

Megatron leaned into Optimus’s face aggressively. “What happened to that great warrior who was my equal for four million years? The one that saw adversity and refused to cower in its presence.”

Optimus managed to break Megatron’s grip. He took a step back, vents blaring and refusing to meet the other’s hard gaze.

Megatron stared at him in disdain. “You aren’t him. You sit all day in the ship and weep. You’re pitiful.”

Optimus turned and walked back to the ship alone. 

_Thirty days, twelve hours, fifty-one minutes_

Since his blow out with Megatron, Optimus spent his time exploring the planet. He simply turned on his GPS to be able to get back, and set out into the wilderness. 

It was a pretty planet that reminded Optimus somewhat of earth. It possessed a vast red rocky and mountainous terrain with sprinkles of alien flora. 

During the day cycle of the planet, the sky took on a pretty light purple hue that darkened into an endless black in the night cycle. 

Surprisingly, there were many other water sources besides the lake their ship sat near. There were countless rivers and springs with clear cold water inside.

Fauna was rather sparse from what Optimus could see. Most of them resembled earth insects, but bigger and with additional features and rocky hides. He’d approached a couple, and for the most part they were peaceful. The exceptions to that rule were the few skittish and territorial life forms. 

_Seventy-three days, five hours, forty minutes_

Optimus spent days at a time out there, coming back to the ship only to refuel. It gave time to rethink his interaction with Megatron and pick apart every word said. 

Optimus didn’t regret his words towards Megatron. The mech needlessly picked a fight, and an innocent creature had died because of that.

However, he could also recognize Megatron, as strong and unbreakable as he appeared, had coping methods as well. The fight had probably been cathartic.

Optimus thought of the misery that encompassed him, and found that Megatron’s words rang true. He had accepted this exile as his grave. He had given up. 

His time to contemplate and heal was peaceful and grounding. 

It was also dreadfully lonely. 

_Ninety-two days, thirteen hours, thirteen minutes_

The day Optimus returned to the ship for good, he noticed Megatron sitting next to the lake. The corpse of the creature was completely gone, most likely devoured by a life form higher up on the food chain. 

Optimus entered the ship, grabbed two cubes of energon and made his way over to Megatron. Optimus sat beside him.

Megatron didn’t so much as glance over, but that was fine. The situation was salvageable. Optimus wordlessly offered the cube out. Megatron eyed it out of the corner of his optic before taking it. 

They sat unspeaking, the only sound coming from them drinking the energon.

Megatron finished his cube first. He subspaced it then looked over at Optimus. “It’s been over two months, Prime.”

“I know.” 

“Two months without a single word and that’s all you have to say? What, were you communing with Primus?” Megatron mocked

“We both know I no longer hold the Matrix,” Optimus said. “I spent the time coming to terms with our current situation and I wanted to say, you were right.”

Megatron raised an optical ridge. “You know I said those things to hurt you?”

“Yes,” Optimus admitted, “I do. But there was truth to what you said.” Optimus met Megatron’s optics, and held the intense look. 

“Megatron, as long as the war went on, I faced a lot of horrifying things. And yes, I faced them down without hesitation. But I could only do that because I knew I had people counting on me. With this sentencing I’ve realized how much I truly fear not being needed. I led my people for the majority of my functioning and to suddenly be released from that. To be rejected by my people and left without purpose is as frightening as it is a relief. To have survived on the desperate hope of Cybertron being rebuilt and for it to become reality only to be excluded from that-” 

Optimus took a breath. “It felt like there was no other reason to live and I needed to grieve that loss.” 

Megatron stared at him, his optics seemingly penetrating Optimus’s plating. He then nodded as if he’d found what he was looking for and stood up. 

He clapped Optimus on the shoulder. “Come along.”

Optimus frowned. “To where?”

Megatron rolled his optics “To the ship of course,” he said with a smirk. “I'm tired of recharging outside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea had been bouncing around in my head for a few days, so here it is! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed! Feedback and comments are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

_One hundred and twenty-two days, six hours, forty-nine minutes_

Optimus sorted through the belongings he’d brought from Cybertron. Datapads, some gifts from earth, a few different blasters, and more datapads. 

He groaned, mentally berating himself for not bringing anything else to pass the time. It was an unfortunate oversight and demoralizing thought when Optimus realized he’d never had any ways of passing time that wasn’t work. 

He would be here for the rest of his life and it seemed boredom would be a daunting foe.

Megatron easily found uses with his time. He’d interrogated Optimus about the layout of the planet, showing a vested interest in its natural resources. When Optimus mentioned the various caves containing metal deposits he’d found, Megatron centered his questioning around that. He requested the location coordinates for the caves. 

Megatron would occasionally disappear and come back covered in grit and dust. Optimus began to catch glimpses of chunks of iron ore around. 

It was only when Megatron started tinkering with the ship thrusters that Optimus realized what he was doing. 

He’d removed the inner shell and core from one of the thrusters. The result was a bowl shaped hunk of metal as big as Megatron’s entire chassis with an interior lined with thermal chargers. 

Megatron set the thing outside and hooked it up to one of the ship’s generators. The inside of the piece heated to a stifling degree. Optimus then watched as Megatron dropped a piece of ore inside. 

It was a makeshift smelter.

“I didn’t know you were an engineer,” Optimus blurted.

Megatron glanced over at Optimus, amused. “I’m not.”

Feeling awkward, but still wanting an answer, Optimus pursued his curiosity. “Then how did you know that would work?”

“The Constructicons weren’t always available to build and dismantle the gladiatorial arena when the industry was in hiding before the war,” Megatron explained. He dropped another ore into the smelter. “I had to learn some metalwork and construction skills myself. And before that, when I worked as a miner, I was taught how to fix broken equipment. Once you know the basics, you can apply that knowledge to many other instances. Those experiences led me to become quite proficient in manipulating machinery.”

Optimus hummed in interest. He’d never given much thought to it himself. He’d had top of the line scientists and engineers like Perceptor and Wheeljack to do the job for him. Distantly, Optimus wondered if Megatron would consider giving him a lesson or two, but quickly banished the thought. 

Megatron teaching anything didn’t come across as a very fun or pleasant experience. 

Scattered at Megatron’s pedes were a variety of tools- wrenches, hammers, welders, screws, metal cutters. 

“Where did you get those?” Optimus asked.

“I brought them from Cybertron. Used the three days of notice they gave us to gather items I wanted to bring.” 

Optimus wished he’d had the insight to bring more items. He’d spent the time sorting out unfinished affairs and visiting his closest friends for personal goodbyes. 

He watched Megatron fiddle with the generator connector a moment before asking, “What are you planning to do with the metal?”

“Build,” Megatron said curtly.

Optimus pushed down his exasperation. “Build what?”

“A little project of mine, Prime. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Megatron adjusted a cable and frowned when nothing happened. Still holding it, he leaned over the top of the smelter to peer inside. He tweaked the cable and a glob of molten metal quickly bubbled up. Megatron pulled his helm up in time, avoiding being caught in the face. 

He chuckled good naturedly; as if he hadn’t nearly gotten his face melted off, and started screwing something into the smelter’s side. 

Optimus made himself comfortable near Megatron and started reading some of the texts on one of his datapads to pass the time. 

_One hundred and sixty-five days, one hour, thirty minutes_

Optimus was bored. He’d read every single piece downloaded on his datapads. Now he was lounging around, eyeing the chess game Tracks had gifted him. 

He'd no idea where the mech found a Cybertronian sized version of the human game, but chose not to question it.

The tell-tale heavy steps of Megatron approaching his habsuite caught Optimus’s audial. Deciding this was his chance, Optimus popped his helm out of the room just before Megatron could pass the door.

The sudden appearance of Optimus’s helm caught Megatron by surprise. He jolted back, assuming a hurried half-formed battle stance.

Just as shocked by Megatron’s reaction, Optimus stood there uncomfortably, only visible from the neck cables up. 

Megatron leveled him with an unimpressed looked. A low whine filled the air, indicating the deactivation of battle protocols.

“Honing your ambushing skills, Prime?”

“Ah, no,” Optimus said, cringing internally. “I was actually wondering if you might join me for a game of chess?”

If possible, Megatron looked even more unimpressed. “That human game?” he asked with thinly veiled disdain. 

Optimus nodded, already knowing Megatron’s answer.

“As if I’d want any part in a simple battle simulation the fleshlings devised,” Megatron declared indignantly.

“It’s not a battle simulation.” Optimus came out of the doorway so his entire frame could be seen. “It’s a test of strategy and wit that can be quite a fun pastime.”

“So, a battle simulation,” Megatron said decisively. “Forget it Prime, I’m not interested.” 

_Two hundred and eleven days, fourteen hours, ten minutes_

After a long arduous effort of ceaseless persistence, Optimus finally succeeded.

He’d been faced with a seemingly impossible task and his harrowing mission was full of danger, feats of strength, failures, surprise attacks, and unrelenting stubbornness.

By the end Optimus was exhausted, but triumphant. He did it. 

He convinced Megatron to play chess with him. 

They sat across from each other in the common area of the ship with the chess board on a table between them. 

Optimus explained the rules as he set up the board.

“This piece is called the queen and is considered the strongest. It can move forward, backward, sideways or diagonally any number of spaces.”

Megatron rubbed his chin in thought, “Intriguingly simple, but simple is the epitome of organics. The challenge of the game could be much improved if you added more boards. The concurrent movements would provide more intense mental stimulation.”

Optimus rolled his optics. “Just make the first move, Megatron. You’re playing white.” 

Megatron took a pawn and moved it forward and the game began. It progressed slowly with each combatant making calculated moves. 

It was a familiar motion: a combination of attacks, counterattacks, baits and waiting. 

A good amount through the game, Optimus noticed something peculiar. Megatron appeared utterly unconcerned with the large amount of pieces he was losing.

Losing was too weak a word. Sacrificing was much more accurate. Megatron would purposefully put various pieces into harm's way. That alone wasn’t strange. Chess was a game that required strategic loss, but Megatron’s actions seemed unnecessary with no clear resulting advantage. 

Optimus counted the number of pieces both of them had. Megatron had five of his sixteen pieces left and Optimus had eleven. He moved his rook sideways in preparation to take Megatron’s knight. 

Instead of moving his knight, Megatron advanced his queen diagonally.

Optimus took Megatron’s knight, frowning at his opponent. “Why are you doing that?”

Megatron picked up a pawn and arched an optic ridge. “I’m playing the game.”

“Yes,” Optimus agreed cautiously. “But you are making pointless sacrifices.”

Megatron rested his chin on his knuckles, pawn still in hand. He lips curved slightly in amusement. “I don’t think I understand what you mean,” he said impishly. 

“You’ve given up nearly all your pieces for no reason. What purpose does that serve?”

“What purpose-” Megatron gave him a look like he was insane. “Are you serious?”

Optimus frowned behind his mask. “The sheer amount of pieces you’ve sacrificed takes away more opportunities for success.” 

Optimus watched Megatron listen to his words. He stared on in disbelief until Optimus said something that made Megatron brighten in understanding.

“You speak of sacrifice as if it’s a bad thing.”

The statement felt unreal to Optimus. He leaned over the board as if getting a better look at Megatron would make everything magically make sense. “Of course it’s a bad thing,” Optimus said. “It certainly isn’t desirable.”

“I disagree,” Megatron admitted. “Sacrifice isn’t inherently good, but it isn’t inherently bad either. It just is.” 

Optimus gave Megatron a flat look and Megatron shrugged. “For every decision you make, you sacrifice another option and the resulting outcomes. There is no alignment there. What truly makes sacrifice good or bad is the balance you create. The worth of what you give up versus the worth of what that gets you. It’s all about cost benefit analysis.” 

“And how are you determining the worth?” Optimus asked. “Are some pieces simply better than others because they’re more powerful? Does that justify anythimg?”

“Come, Prime, during war,” Megatron gestured to the board. “Some troops are worth more. You know that as well as I do.”

“So you have no issues sacrificing the weak because they’re not powerful? Because they’re worth less?”

Megatron tilted his helm with a calculating expression. “Well Prime, power doesn’t necessarily equate to worth.” he pointed with his free hand at his king. “The king for example is one of the weakest pieces, but without it I’ll lose, making it worth the most.”

“Do you think I gave up both my bishops because it amused me? No, I did it to protect my king and keep playing the game. Do you think I let you take my knight for no reason?” 

Megatron pointed to the board “Every lost piece is an input to achieve a better output. Sacrifice is something that everyone makes, granted on different scales. It’s what allows us to thrive, and can be devastation or triumph.” 

Leisurely, Megatron spun the pawn in hand. “Sacrifice is equality in a sense. The strong and the weak are both at risk and those thought of as weak can be important as either inputs or outputs.” Megatron placed his pawn next to Optimus’s king. “Check mate, Prime.” 

Optimus stared at the board. He looked at his eleven pieces and Megatron’s four.

“What is too much sacrifice?” he asked. “Is victory worth it if there’s barely anyone left to enjoy it?” 

Megatron fixed Optimus with a knowing gaze. “We’re not talking about chess anymore, are we?” he asked.

“No.” Optimus fiddled with the top of his king. "I don’t think we have for a while.”

Megatron reached across the table and grabbed one of his captured pieces from Optimus’s side. He started setting up his side of the board.

When Optimus looked at him inquiringly, Megatron chuckled. “How about another game? I’ll try to be a little more sparing this time around.” 

_Three hundred and sixty-five days, three hours, thirty-nine minutes_

Optimus lay on his back outside of the ship. It was early in the planet’s day cycle and the sky was beginning to lighten- swirling into a pretty dark purple. 

Stars blinked from above. They danced, shining bright among one another. He could hear the quiet calls of the creatures from this planet. Most of them were more active in the darker hours, making mournful cries that filled the night and early morning. 

Optimus lay there, looking up at the sky and thinking about Cybertron. As much as he knew it was a bad idea that brought nothing but regret, he couldn’t help it. This day marked their first year of exile and Optimus found himself feeling nostalgic. 

He wondered what his Autobots were doing. What kind of life had they made for themselves post-war? 

Optimus adjusted his positioning and a sharp rock dug into his shoulder joint. Wincing, he shifted his frame over to a less painful location. 

He was drifting back into his thoughts when he heard footsteps coming down the ramp. 

“Prime?” 

“Down here.” 

Megatron came around the ship and into sight. “Is the dirt truly more comfortable than your berth?”

“Bold words from a mech who slept outside for months out of spite.”

Megatron snorted, but sat down next to Optimus. They watched the sky in silence as it grew lighter before their optics and the stars began to retreat. 

“What prompted this early morning excursion?” Megatron asked.

“I just wanted to think.”

“Not about Cybertron I hope.”

Optimus shrugged. His shoulder joint caught another rock, and it caught, becoming wedged in the mechanisms of the joint. He tried rolling his shoulders to dislodge it, but the rock only grated uncomfortably against his components.

Scowling, Optimus sat up, reached a hand inside and pulled out the offending piece of stone. He turned it over in his hands twice and looked over at Megatron.

“I can’t help it. Don’t you ever wonder what your friends are doing?”

Megatron snorted. “Friends? I don’t have friends.”

Optimus regarded Megatron with sad optics. “That’s an awfully lonely existence.”

“I said I didn’t have friends Prime, not companionship. Don’t act like you’re much different.”

“But I am,” he protested. “I have Ratchet, Ironhide, Bumblebee, Prowl before he became a manipulative aft.”

“I’ve always respected that about him,” Megatron remarked. “The mech knows how to get what he wants. But those are your subordinates. You might be friendly with them, but there’s still a gap created by the power dynamic of you being their commander and their Prime. You’ll always be on a pedestal and that isn’t true friendship. You know it.”

Optimus did know it.

“I still think you’re wrong,” he said quietly. 

“Really?” Megatron asked, doubt dripping from his voice.

“You have at least one friend, Megatron.”

Megatron stared at him before breaking out into laughter. “What, you?” He let out a deep boisterous guffaw that rolled into uncontrollable snorts of hilarity. 

Feeling a wave of embarrassment heat his frame, Optimus stood and made to leave. Before he could, Megatron caught his arms and tugged him back down.

“No wait, Prime,” he said between laughs. “I’m not trying to mock you.” Optimus stood still, waiting for Megatron’s chuckles to peter out.

Finally, the laughter died down, and Megatron tugged Optimus back down to sit with him. “I’m sorry, Prime,” Megatron said good naturedly. “I just never anticipated my enemy of four million years would call me his friend once more.” 

The tension bled out of Optimus’s frame. He looked up, refusing to meet the other’s optics and asked, “What do you call me?”

Megatron hummed in consideration. 

“A friend I suppose,” he decided. 

Optimus was just starting to relax into the comfortable atmosphere when Megatron turned to him with a smile filled with denta. The tension instantly returned to Optimus’s frame.

“What?” he asked cautiously.

“Since we’ve had our little spark to spark, I think it’s time we had a little fun.”

“Fun?” Optimus questioned.

“A fight. Nothing too serious of course. A low intensity spar.” 

_Three hundred and sixty-five days, five hours, fifty-three minutes._

They settled on a patch of land a good distance away from the ship. Now standing opposite of Megatron with some space between them, Optimus wasn’t sure what made him agree to this.

“Ready?” Megatron called.

“Yes,” Optimus called back against his better judgment. 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Megatron was charging him. He swung wide in an obvious attack. Despite that, it hit, fist smashing Optimus across the faceplate. 

Optimus’s battle protocols flared online and oh, oh! That was the issue! Optimus grabbed Megatron by the wrist and twisted viciously. Trying to alleviate the pain, Megatron’s natural response was to follow the motion and reduce the awkward angle. It put Megatron off balance and Optimus slammed an elbow into Megatron’s nasal ridge.

His protocols pushed him to find an opening

Megatron grunted, but didn’t stumble back. The familiar sensation of sensors increasing in sensitivity, his armor clamping down in protection and his optics tuning to movement filled Optimus.

He hadn’t used them in a year, but it felt like millennia. 

His protocols demanded he keep himself out of harm's way

Optimus punched, aiming at Megatron’s chassis. Megatron blocked and threw a returning blow. It hit the side of Optimus’s helm, crashing into his audial.

The world was thrown into a hazy drone of static. 

His protocols screamed at him to neutralize the threat.

Optimus’s vision focused in on Megatron’s back leg. Megatron had stepped forward into with the motion of the punch with his front leg. It left the other extended back for support and completely vulnerable.

Optimus raised a pede and stomped down on the outside of Megatron’s knee joint. With a sickening crack, the joint dislocated and the limb bent inwards the wrong way.

Megatron howled in pain then collapsed. Optimus’s battle protocols shut down immediately and in an instant he was at Megatron’s side, trying to ascertain the damage done. 

“Oh Primus, Megatron! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. The protocols were, they-” Optimus rambled. 

Megatron lay sprawled on the ground, holding the injured limb and gritting his denta. But every few moments a groan of pain escaped his lips.

Optimus managed to pry Megatron’s digits from his leg to get a better look. The plating of the lower leg above the pede was cracked. Through the jagged splits, Optimus could make out the half crushed knee joint. He counted it as lucky there were no ruptured energon lines. 

Megatron gave a pained laugh at Optimus’s alarm. “You still got it, Prime,” he gritted out. 

Optimus rushed back to the ship, grabbed one of the med kits and hurried back. He spent nearly the rest of the day fixing the injury to the best of his ability. All the while, Megatron laughed and complemented Optimus on his ruthlessness.

It was a strange experience. And when Megatron was fixed enough to walk and Optimus was sure Megatron’s self-repair would take care of the rest, he turned to Optimus and said, “Happy anniversary, Prime.” 

_One year, sixty days, nine hours, fourteen minutes_

“What are you doing?” Optimus asked. 

Megatron looked up from the smelter and raised an optical ridge. 

“Well you still haven’t told me what your project is,” Optimus said defensively.

Megatron huffed. “Are you bored, Prime?”

Optimus wondered why he was surprised Megatron could read him so well. The mech was unnervingly perceptive. 

Taking Optimus’s silence as an affirmative, Megatron finished his current handiwork and turned to face Optimus. “You’ve done nothing for a pastime other than read and play me in chess the entire time we’ve been here. Don’t you have any hobbies?”

“No,” Optimus bit out. “War didn’t lend well to developing hobbies.” 

Megatron leaned a hip against the smelter, once again tempting danger without a second thought. 

“Alright, Optimus Prime has no recreational pursuits, but what about Orion Pax? What did he like to do in his free time?” 

The answer was nothing. Optimus felt a small flutter of shame. Orion Pax had been a workaholic. He lived for his work as an enforcer captain. He found joy in keeping the public safe and saw free time as time wasted. 

But even if Orion had recreational activities, Optimus wasn’t sure if he’d still enjoy them. He wasn’t sure if he was still Orion or not. 

“Orion was a good shot,” Optimus offered weakly. “He spent a lot of time at the shooting range.”

“Well then that’s what we’ll do.” Megatron pointed to the ship. “Grab both of us a blaster and we can go shoot a boulder or two.” 

_Four years, seven days, eighteen hours, twenty-six minutes_

Fueling with Megatron in the common area after nightfall was a tradition Optimus had grown fond of. They sat next to or across from one another, drinking their energon and talking.

Tonight they were sitting next to each other and Optimus was explaining the background of one of his favorite pieces of literature. 

It was a philosophical essay on the nature of superiority between species. It talked extensively about whether there was any truth in certain hierarchies and how the term sentience could be used as an effective weapon. 

The author was well versed in the history of many galactic empires and spent years traveling to collect old pieces of propaganda from these regimes. 

Optimus finished speaking and took a sip of energon before turning. He was met with deep red optics staring intently at him. 

“Is there a reason you're looking at me like that?”

Megatron smirked. “I love watching you when you’re passionate about something: literature, speeches, attempting to kill me. It’s alluring, like you.”

Optimus snorted in disbelief. “Your flirting technique is quite esoteric.” He meant it as a joke, but Megatron leered in response. His red optics looked darker than usual and his expression was one Optimus would call hungry.

“Unique methods for a unique mech.” Megatron shifted closer until he was pressed against Optimus’s side.

Optimus’s frame heated up from the contact. He could feel Megatron’s powerful engine thrumming with energy.

Optimus took another drink of energon to keep himself calm. He gave Megatron the most unimpressed look he could manage. “You can’t be that happy about hearing me talk about alien societies. You hate organics.”

“Yes!” Megatron crowed as if Optimus had cracked a code. “Organics are filthy insignificant beings that I would normally despise hearing about, but It’s you talking and you enjoying the topic. The fire in your optics, frame and voice is captivating.”

“And you’re mentioning this now because?” 

“It seemed like the right time.”

“Desperation for a warm frame finally setting in?” Optimus asked flatly.

Megatron’s engine growled, sending a pleasant tingle running through Optimus’s frame. “Desperation is far from the reason,” Megatron said, anger tinting his soft words. “I’ve been attracted to you for millions of years, and if I’m reading this correctly, you feel the same.”

Optimus shivered. Megatron leaned in closer, his lips brushing Optimus’s cheek. “Just say yes, Prime,” he whispered. “Say yes and I promise you won’t regret it.”

Optimus turned, snapped his battle mask back and captured Megatron in a kiss. It was slow and deep and Optimus quivered in delight. He curled his glossa and Megatron moaned, melting against him.

After a few minutes Optimus broke the kiss. Megatron chased it, lips brushing Optimus’s.

“Yes,” Optimus murmured against the other's mouth. 

Megatron reset his optics, for once at a loss for words. Optimus grinned. He pulled Megatron to his pedes then shoved him against the wall. 

Megatron gasped and the sound went straight to Optimus’s array. 

The kiss began anew, this time rough and heated. Megatron bit his lips playfully and Optimus’s engine turned over. Glossa tangled, denta clashed. Optimus couldn’t get enough of Megatron- of his scent, his noises, his taste. 

Optimus brought a hand down to grope at Megatron’s panel. It was burning hot to the touch. He pressed his palm to it hard, and the panel slid aside to reveal a valve dripping with lubricant. He cupped his hand over the equipment, teasing a digit over Megatron node.

“Prime~” Megatron groaned.

Optimus leaned forward, using his weight to push Megatron against the wall harder. He leaned in to nip at Megatron’s neck cabling. 

“May I?” he asked, stroking his digits through the valve lips

“Mmm, yes.” 

Optimus slid a digit inside. Megatron clenched around him and grunted in approval. Optimus moved his digit in and out, coaxing the calipers to relax. 

Megatron rocked his hips into the motion. “More,” he demanded. 

Optimus licked his lips and added another digit. It slid in smoothly. Apparently unappreciative, Megatron wacked Optimus on the back of the helm. “I meant your spike, Prime.” he said petulantly.

Optimus frowned, halting his motions. “There’s a risk of injury if you aren’t adequately prepared.”

“Adequately prepared,” Megatron grumbled. “The valve is designed to stretch, and arousal helps with that. Can’t you feel how wet I am?”

Optimus’s engine roared.

He took Megatron by the shoulder and spun him around so he faced the wall. Megatron spread his thighs and looked behind him expectantly. Optimus slid back his panel and carefully guided his spike into Megatron’s valve.

They moaned in tandem as Optimus hilted himself inside his partner. He gripped Megatron’s hips tightly as he focused on staying still and allowing Megatron to adjust.

At last, Megatron pushed his hips backwards, causing a shock of molten pleasure to pass through Optimus’s spike.

“Move,” Megatron gasped breathlessly. 

Optimus rolled his hips, beginning a slow, gentle rhythm. He plastered his chest against Megatron’s back, enjoying the warm wetness of Megatron. 

“Mmm!” Megatron looked over his shoulder, optics full of lust. “Harder, Optimus.”

Optimus gripped Megatron’s hips and picked up the pace. A wet squelch began to sound between their connected arrays. 

Megatron reached back behind him and groped for Optimus’s aft, trying to pull him closer. “Harder, Optimus!” he snarled. “Frag me like you mean it.” 

Optimus pulled his spike out of Megatron completely. Megatron choked with surprise and started to turn to protest, but Optimus placed his forearm over the back of Megatron’s neck and shoved him into the wall. 

Megatron hit the wall hard and before he could recover, Optimus thrust back inside roughly. The loudest moan Optimus had heard yet fell from Megatron’s lips. 

Optimus slammed his hips forward repeatedly, battering Megatron’s valve. He thrust harder, his spike seemingly sinking deeper each time. 

Megatron’s frame skidded and slammed against the wall, his chassis leaving streaks of paint on the surface with every brutal shove of Optimus’s hips. He tried to rock back but Optimus leaned on the forearm across Megatron’s neck and gripped Megatron’s hips tighter with the other hand.

The noises falling from Megatron’s lips were obscene- moans of absolute ecstasy that propelled Optimus to wring more pleasure from his partner’s frame.

“Optimus!” Megatron shouted. Then his valve was rippling in overload, clenching around Optimus and pulling him into shared oblivion. 

_Four years, seven days, nineteen hours, twenty-eight minutes_


	3. Chapter 3

_Four years, two hundred and thirty-nine days, four hours, six minutes_

The dull grey metal ceiling of Optimus’s room was surprisingly comforting. It was the same dull construction of every spacecraft ceiling Optimus usually slept under. It was the boring Spartan design indicative of space travel. 

He gazed upwards, tracing the seams of the ceiling panels with his optics. Megatron’s frame was warm against Optimus’s side. The whirling and clicks of Megatron’s system gently vibrated the berth below.

It was surreal to be in this position with Megatron, to have a sense of mutual trust that enabled them to recharge together. He and Megatron hadn’t slept in separate berths in some time and were interfacing regularly. 

It was a comfortable existence, if not a little depressing. Megatron was typically working on his strange project. He’d moved the operation behind a massive boulder out of sight of the ship. Optimus remained unbearably curious, but felt it would be disrespectful to pry.

When Megatron wasn’t working on the project he could usually be found writing. It was nice to see the mech pick back up a hobby he clearly enjoyed. 

Optimus found he liked to travel around the planet. It was nothing like the spark searching he’d done when he’d first arrived, but exploring the nooks and crannies of the planet was a pleasant pastime. 

Talking and debating Megatron also proved a great use of time. With each discussion Optimus felt like he’d gotten something out of it, be it knowledge, insight or a simple form of gratification. 

Exile could have been worse. 

_Five years, nine days, eight hours, forty-seven minutes_

“Remind me again why you’re here,” Megatron said absently. He scanned the rocky area before him and made a triumphant noise when his sensors located the cave entrance. 

“I’m not going to let you go underground alone into a planet you know nothing about. What if you get trapped below?” 

“What if I get trapped below,” Megatron parroted back. “Honestly, Prime, what do you think I did before the war?” He walked up to the cave entrance to get a better look. It was a hole that arched up from the ground onto the side of a stony hill. It was a little bigger than Megatron and bled into a narrow passageway leading down into the planet’s depths.

“Stay up here and if I’m not up in twenty-four hours, assume a tunnel collapse. There’s no point in both of us getting stuck down there.” 

He took a step into the cave and immediately Optimus’s engine made an odd noise. It sounded like a whine but hiccupped before pitching deeper into a strangled growl.

Megatron turned back with a long suffering sigh. “It’ll be fine, Prime. How do you think I got a hold of the iron?”

Optimus frowned at Megatron’s words. Something about that sentence aggravated him.

“By venturing in a cave much safer than this one.” Optimus offered. “Megatron, I don’t even possess any sort of mining protocols and my sensors can tell this tunnel goes extraordinarily deep. If you’re looking for more ore can’t you find somewhere else?”

“It’s not ore I’m looking for, Prime.” 

Optimus felt irritation rising within him, but oddly, the cause wasn’t Megatron’s blatant lack of self-preservation. 

“Something for your mysterious project then?”

Megatron laughed. “It’s not nearly whimsical enough to be considered mysterious,” he joked. “As I said before, it’s a surprise, Prime.” 

The flippancy grated on Optimus. It felt as though Megatron’s mirth was curling around Optimus’s fuel lines, and that one particular word was squeezing- cutting them off and creating a pressure ready to burst. 

“You are quite literally the only company I have,” Optimus snapped. “I’m not letting you disappear to a cave-in for Primus knows how long.”

“Aww, worried, Prime?” Megatron crooned. “Such selfish reasoning too. Is a desire for company the only reason you want me safe?” he teased. “The Primes of old would have been impressed.”

Optimus felt the building roar of indignation. Was he not allowed to feel concern for his...he actually wasn’t sure what they were. They’d never talked about it. Lover was probably the most accurate term. “Megatron-”

“Prime,” Megatron said in a tone that brokered further arguments.

That caused the burst.

“Don’t call me that!” Optimus snapped. 

The wave of confusion Optimus experienced as soon as the sentence left his vocalizer was as strong as the bewilderment plastering Megatron face and EM field.

“You mean your name?” Megatron asked with an arched optical ridge. 

The confusion intensified as Optimus found himself at a loss for words. Megatron was waiting expectantly for a reason regarding Optimus’s irritable outburst. 

“Forget what I said,” Optimus grumbled. “Go down if you want, but I’m coming with you.” 

Megatron’s field reached out, brushing against Optimus’s, in inquiry. It was unusual for Megatron to be gentle when communicating with his field. The mech preferred to use it either as a weapon or a display of dominance- imbuing it with unbridled rage or confidence and projecting it indiscriminately. 

It had the lovely effect of conveying to other Cybertronians that this was a member of their species they should avoid displeasing if they liked all their body parts intact. 

The lightness in the contact caused a small shiver of charge to run through Optimus’s frame. He felt honored at Megatron’s unique display, but was both unable and unwilling to explain. Instead he clamped his field down and set his optics on the cave entrance. 

Megatron’s field drew back in the equivalent of a sigh. He placed a servo on the rough edge of the entrance and began cautiously making his way inside.

Once he was a good ways inside, Optimus began to follow. 

As they ventured down the darkness began to grow. The little light from the surface disappeared, wrapping their frames in black. 

Unable to see or make any observations about their surroundings, Optimus found his audials and sensors dial up in sensitivity. 

He had thought it would be quiet beneath the planet but instead there was a sort of ringing emptiness broken only by their footsteps. Ordinarily unnoticed vibrations became deafening in the empty tunnels. 

An hour passed and they were still heading down. 

Neither of them had spoken a word. Optimus desperately wanted to ask how much longer they had to go but had kept quiet out of pride. He’d been the one demanding to come along. 

Deciding a little bit of lost pride was better than his current situation, Optimus softly asked, “Are we close?”

Optimus couldn’t see anything, but he could make out the soft whirr of Megatron turning his helm. “Very,” was the raspy response. 

Another half-hour went by. It was quite possible there were different standards of ‘close’ for miners. 

One more hour and Optimus was wondering if they were using different units of time when Megatron said, “There.”

A tiny spot of light shown from maybe a mile ahead. It was a constant pinprick of brightness made infinitely stronger by the darkness encapsulating it. 

As they drew closer and the light got bigger with proximity, Optimus started to see what was an entrance to a cavern off of the tunnel. The entrance looked to be little more than a large crack in the wall. The edges were jagged and sharp but the light pouring from it somehow managed to make it look appealing. 

Megatron gripped one of the edges and broke it off with a snap. The base of the stone crumbled in his palm and he threw it to the side. He repeated the process until they could pass through without slicing themselves. 

With a strange sort of ease, Megatron turned sideways and slipped inside. Optimus copied the motion, wincing when a small amount of paint was scraped off his back. 

The sight he was met with was extraordinary. 

The cavern itself was circular. It was twice Optimus’s height and wide enough for at least three large mechs to stand side by side comfortably. 

Embedded into the walls on all sides, even the ceiling were crystals. There had to be tens of thousands of them, clustered in a way that reminded Optimus of the scales of earth reptiles. 

The crystals themselves were small and a clear white. They glowed softly, bouncing the light off one another and in each one a reflection of Optimus and Megatron shown clear as if in a mirror. 

Megatron pulled one of the crystals from the wall, examining it approvingly. He subspaced it, and began removing more and storing them. 

“Once I have enough of these we can return to the surface,” Megatron called, but Optimus wasn’t listening. He stared, mesmerized by the mosaic of images the crystals created. 

Tens of Thousands of Optimus Primes. Except, that wasn’t right. The mechs in the crystals weren’t exhausted like Optimus Prime. They were all in good repair with the smooth paintwork war never allowed. They had no armies at their beckon, no mechs to slay, no duty on their shoulders and no matrix in their chests. None of them truly felt like Optimus Prime.

“Megatron?” Optimus called, facing the mirror that had granted him understanding. “Can you not refer to me as Prime?”

He felt Megatron’s gaze on him. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Just Optimus.” 

Optimus felt Megatron take his shoulder with a firm grip. “I’ve got what I need. Are you ready to return to the surface, Optimus?” 

A nod was the answer. Megatron tugged him out of the cavern and away from the mirrors. 

_Thirty years, twenty days, fifteen hours, eighteen minutes_

Optimus typed a passcode into the ship’s communication system. Beside him Megatron was pacing.

“It’s degrading,” he grumbled. “It’s most likely they gave us a small supply to facilitate a desire to hear us beg.”

“You are seeing humiliation where there is none.” Optimus entered the key and waited for someone to pick up the line. “They gave us enough energon for thirty years and all we have to do to get more is ask. That’s more than generous considering Cybertron is still being rebuilt.”

“You realize they could easily starve us. Stop sending us energon and quietly get rid of two prisoners without anyone knowing.”

Optimus had thought of that. It was a disturbing notion that kept him awake some nights. “I realize and do fear the idea,” he admitted. 

The sound of Megatron’s footsteps stopped and Optimus realized he was about to be subjected to an overzealous speech about something relating to ‘maintaining the system’. 

He was saved when someone picked up the line. 

“Hello?”

“Yes hello,” Optimus answered. “This is Megatron and Optimus and we are requesting a shipment of energon. We’ve almost run out of our current supply.” 

“Affirmative,” the unfamiliar voice rumbled. “A shipment will be sent right away. It will arrive within the next couple of days.” The mech hung up the line.

Optimus glanced over at a scowling Megatron and settled in for the oncoming declamation.

_Thirty years, twenty-two days, five hours, fifty-eight minutes_

The ship carrying the energon landed with little warning or ceremony. Optimus lurched awake to the audial splitting growl of ship engines. Megatron’s arms squeezed him in response. His optics burned bright red and alert.

“It’s the cargo ship,” he explained, holding Optimus still. “No need to roll out.” 

Optimus sniffed. “I’ll roll out whenever the pit I want to,” he muttered, removing himself from Megatron. He stretched then got off the berth. 

The two traveled outside. The cargo ship was a big blocky hunk of metal and if it had not been there before, Optimus would have doubted its flight capabilities. 

The hatch opened up and three Cybertronians emerged. Two were using a cart to carry containers of energon. The third Cybertronian walked straight towards them- a figure Optimus recognized immediately. 

“Bumblebee!” Optimus cried. His battle mask snapped back to reveal a wide smile. 

The yellow mech had an equally delighted smile on his face. When Bumblebee arrived in front of his old commander they stared at one another, unsure about how to proceed. Bumblebee had initially been angry about the exile, but in the end was one of the politicians to sign off on the order. 

Optimus didn’t blame him. It’d been necessary to keep the public content and unified. And although they’d parted as friends, Optimus got the impression Bumblebee didn’t want to initiate contact out of consideration for Optimus’s feelings. 

Deciding to manually dissuade Bumblebee’s hesitance, Optimus swept the minibot into a tight hug. Immediately, Bumblebee wrapped his arms as far around the other as they would go and Optimus was treated to the sound of warm laughter. 

After a long moment, the two separated. With Bumblebee’s pedes firmly on the ground, the minibot took a step back to get a better look at the larger mech. 

“Optimus, you’re looking well. It’s good to see you again.” 

Optimus nodded. “Likewise, my friend.” And Bumblebee really did look good. His optics shone brightly, characteristic of a well-fueled mech and his plating had a modest sheen of polish on it. But what was most telling for Optimus was the lightness in Bumblebee’s field. The mech was free of the heaviness that hung over him for most of the war and the first few years of peace. 

Bumblebee fixed Optimus with a probing gaze. “And you really are doing alright?” Bumblebee leaned sideways to look at Megatron who was a few paces behind them. “He hasn’t been giving you any trouble?”

Optimus felt a pleasant warmth at Bumblebee’s concern. “No, Megatron and I have been getting along quite well.”

“Exceedingly well,” Megatron called from behind. Optimus winced at the smugness in Megatron’s voice, hoping Bumblebee wouldn’t pick up the innuendo. 

Bumblebee stared at Megatron suspiciously even as the mech came to stand at Optimus’s side. 

“Really,” Optimus assured him. “Everything’s ok.” 

Seemingly amused at the distrust, Megatron stuck out a servo. “I’m glad to see you’re still functioning,” he said with a quirk of the lips. Bumblebee shook the servo stiffly and that seemed to ease the tension. 

“Would you like to come inside to sit and talk for a bit,” Megatron offered in an overly polite manner that utterly unnerved Optimus.

Bumblebee looked at each of them before relenting. “I’d like that, but I can’t stay for long.

_Thirty years, twenty-two days, six hours, sixteen minutes_

It was only after they’d made themselves comfortable in the ship's common area that Optimus thought to ask about Bumblebee’s visit. 

“One of the stipulations of our exile is that we are to have no contact from former Autobots or Decepticons. How are you here?” 

Bumblebee looked slightly abashed. He gave an awkward smile. “I pulled some strings.” 

“So open about abusing your position as a government official?” Megatron asked. He crossed his legs and relaxed into his chair, practically gloating.

“I’m not a politician anymore.” Bumblebee met Megatron’s optics. “Starscream convinced the council to allow me to check up on you two.”

Megatron’s posturing ceased as his frame tensed up. “Starscream?” he asked, his distaste palpable. “What does that little upstart have to do with this?”

“He won the election. He’s currently the ruler of Cybertron.” 

Megatron made a deeply unhappy noise and excused himself to go get a glass of energon. 

Optimus shook his helm in disbelief. “Starscream? Why isn’t Rodimus leading? The Matrix chose him as the next Prime.” 

Bumblebee smiled sadly. “The Matrix has very little bearing on our government these days. Neither former decepticons nor the neutrals are very keen on returning to a theocracy. The Primes made many mistakes. They caused a lot of suffering with their rule and that stain is still in the people’s memories.”

Optimus shuttered his optics as he took in the unsaid statement. _You made many mistakes._

“The power of the Matrix is being used to revive the planet. Rodimus is leading that effort, but afterwards he won’t be needed,” Bumblebee continued. “The time of Primes is over.” 

Optimus fought back the desire to close his battle mask and hide his expression. Instead he gave Bumblebee a strained smile. “I’ll bet Rodimus is happy about that. He never particularly wanted to assume leadership.” 

“Yes, he’s happy.” 

Optimus met Bumblebee’s optics and in them found sympathy. 

“It’s time for matrix bearers to rest,” Bumblebee said. 

Relief washed through Optimus, so strong it made him nauseous. He could only nod in response. 

_Thirty years, twenty-two days, six hours, fifty-seven minutes_

Optimus watched the cargo ship launch and disappear from sight. 

A heavy servo landed on his shoulder. 

“I’m no longer needed,” Optimus mumbled.

Megatron hummed in response. 

“I made mistakes but I did my best for them and they know that.”

Another hum.

“I don’t think I realized how tired I was until now. Not being needed to lead is terrifying but I think right now, I need to rest.” 

_Two hundred and sixty years, fifty-four, twenty-one hours, thirty-three minutes_

“What are you doing?” Megatron mumbled, woken by the light of Optimus’s datapad. 

Optimus put his hand over what he hoped were Megatron’s optics. “Go back to sleep, I’m almost finished.”

The reassurance only served to wake Megatron’s foggy processor further. He sat up and squinted at the offending light. 

Optimus sighed, knowing he’d have to divulge his activities. “I hacked into the Galactic Council’s library archive.”

Megatron was suddenly very awake. 

“You hacked into- why?”

“They have the largest database of literature from countless species,” Optimus said, trying to argue his point. “I wanted access to more pieces of writing.”

“Amazing,” Megatron rumbled. “You, a former enforcer actually broke the law to get your hands on a little bit of extra literature?”

“A lot of literature,” Optimus shot back petulantly. Galaxies worth of it. And new works are constantly added as they’re published. I’ll never run out.”

“Sure, sure,” Megatron chuckled. He turned over to block out the light. He was quiet for a long while. 

Optimus thought he was back in recharge when Megatron said softly. “Give me the encryption key in the morning, will you? I want to see what kind of literature the Galactic Council stores.”

Optimus muffled a snort of laughter. 

_Two hundred and seventy years, one hundred and one days, twelve hours, thirty-three minutes_

Optimus moaned at the blissful warmth encompassing his spike. He was sitting on their berth, Megatron kneeling between his legs. 

Looking down, Optimus was greeted with a hazy opticed Megatron. He moved the spike in and out of his mouth, taking it further into his intake with every delicious slide.

A trickle of oral lubricant slid from the corner of Megatron's mouth. It slid down his face, gathering at his chin. Optimus shuddered at the sight. 

With a wet pop, Megatron pulled off and began to caress the spike with his glossa. He gave a long lick from the base up, pressing his lips to the tip in mimicry of a kiss. 

Optimus’s entire frame pitched forward at the denial. “Please,” he panted. “Just a little more.” 

Megatron gave the equipment and quick pump with his hand. He fit his mouth around the top and slowly slid down, catching every spike ridge on his glossa on the way. 

Optimus moved his grip from Megatron’s shoulder to his helm, trying to make him take the spike deeper. Megatron servo moved up to Optimus’s valve panel, palming it. 

The panel shot open and Optimus’s moans intensified. He rocked his hips forward and Megatron took it. An obscene slurp and strut deep groan left Megatron’s vocalizer as the spike hit the back of his intake. 

Optimus overloaded, his frame shaking with the dispersion of charge. Transfluid emptied into Megatron's mouth and he swallowed it down smoothly. 

Optimus slumped to the berth, exhausted with half his systems trying to reset after the overload. Megatron stood, smiling down at Optimus with far too many denta.

He reached down a hand to rub at Optimus’s burning valve, taking care to brush the swollen anterior node. Optimus arched into the contact, whining softly. He could feel lubricant begin to soak the mesh of his valve lips. Spreading his legs invitingly he looked to Megatron.

The grey mech was staring down at Optimus, his optics glowing with lust and his field saturated with desire. He lowered himself onto Optimus, keeping himself supported with a forearm situated next to the mech’s helm. 

His other servo reached down and between their hips to grasp his spike and press it into Optimus’s valve. It slid halfway in before Optimus’s leg jerked in discomfort at the stretch. Megatron paused. He massaged Optimus’s node, rolling it between his digits.

Optimus gave another breathless moan, relaxing enough for Megatron to enter the rest of the way. Red optics dimmed in pleasure as Megatron pushed his face into the crook of Optimus’s neck. 

Megatron began a slow languid rhythm, carefully rocking in and out of the mech below him. Optimus gasped, surprised by the tenderness. He moved with Megatron, enjoying the sensation of their mingled charge fluttering through their connected arrays.

A choked off gasp signaled Megatron’s release and Optimus overloaded with the feeling of scorching hot transfluid hitting his valve walls. 

Carefully, he pulled out before flopping on his back beside his berth mate. The sound of heavy venting and smell of interfacing permeated the room which Optimus found himself oddly charmed by. He let himself bask in it, enjoying the post-overload haze.

A soft mumble came from his side. Mustering all his strength, Optimus rolled over to face Megatron. “What did you say?” he asked dazedly. 

“I said I want to show you something.”

Optimus frowned. “Right now?” 

Megatron huffed. “Of course not right now,” he said sulkily. “It can wait till we have proper control back in our motor relays.”

Optimus laughed and let his arm drop across Megatron’s chest. It landed with a thunk. Megatron grunted from the impact but made no further protests. 

_Two hundred and seventy years, one hundred and one days, thirteen hours, twelve minutes_

It was about forty minutes until either party felt like they could move again. Megatron led Optimus outside and away from the ship.

In the direction, Optimus realized where he’d been building his surprise project. 

They rounded the boulder. Behind it was a cliff formation that came down on the sides to form a shelter of sorts. Tucked into that formation was a small metal building. 

It was an ugly thing- square, and made up entirely of boring iron. But Optimus had to give it to Megatron; the building was very well built, made with a sturdy base. 

“The surprise isn’t the building,” Megatron said as if reading Optimus’s thoughts. “I didn’t spend two-hundred and seventy years building something this basic.” 

The inside was almost as boring as the exterior, but had the added intrigue of rows of large metal drums. Optimus counted twenty of the canisters. 

Megatron walked up to the nearest drum and reached inside. His hand came up with a silvery liquid pooled in his palm and he held it out for Optimus to see. 

Optimus’s sensors designated the substance as energon, but that couldn’t be right. He recalibrated his olfactory system and chemical receptors, but they gave him the same data. 

“Is this synthetic energon?” he asked incredulously.

Megatron smirked. “Not the kind of synth you’re thinking of.” Without warning he reached forward, taking advantage of Optimus’s open battle mask to smear the substance on Optimus’s lips.

Reactively, and against his better judgment, Optimus licked the substance from his lips. His systems gave him the same notice as it would had he ingested normal energon. 

“None of the nasty effects on the frame and processor function that normal synth causes,” Megatron explained. 

“How?”

Megatron’s smirk widened. “The crystals are essentially the same as energon ore but with many more impurities. To remove those impurities they have to be soaked for a little more than one hundred years in a cocktail of acids that can be made from some of the elements on this planet. The acid then must be removed through a sort of straining process.” 

“And you just knew exactly what to do and how to do it?” Optimus gestured to the containers. “How did you even come up with this?”

“Do you think I surrendered to our exile without ensuring I had some kind of control?” Megatron dipped his hand into the container again. He removed it and rubbed the energon between his digits. 

“When I heard of our impending fate, I consulted Shockwave on synthetic energon. He gave me the information I needed and I then found this planet with the correct natural resources to support production. After that, it was just a little information manipulation to make the council think that exiling us to this specific planet their idea.” 

Optimus took in that information and had to admit he was more than a little impressed. 

“You did this to ensure the council wouldn’t have control over our fuel supply,” Optimus realized. “With all the crystals on this planet, we’ll have more than enough energon.” 

“That’s one reason. I certainly am not going to be killed by those cowards.” Megatron took Optimus' hands. “I give you this energon store and with it the gift of independence as the Third Act of Profference in hope that you’ll one day become my conjunx.” 

Optimus’s processor nearly stalled. “Third Act?” he croaked. “When did we complete the first two?” 

Megatron leaned in and kissed Optimus’s neck cabling reverently. 

“I think we know each other’s arrays well enough for the act of Intimacy,” he murmured against the cabling. Megatron dropped his hands to Optimus’s hips. “The Act of Disclosure was completed that night you came back and admitted to your fears of having no purpose.” 

Megatron drew back. “Unless you have objections-”

“No!” Optimus gritted out. He pulled Megatron into a searing kiss. 

“I just have to complete the fourth act?” Optimus asked breathlessly once they’d separated. “Then you're my conjunx?”

“Mmm, yes” Megatron hummed happily. “The ball’s in your court now, Optimus.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Three hundred and fifty-one years, ninety-eight days, twenty hours, one minute_

Buried in his datapad, Optimus barely noticed the presence of his companion until a helm brushed past his shoulder. 

“What are you reading now?” came a low grumble. 

Not wanting to stop, Optimus reached an arm back; blindly petting at what he hoped was a cheek. Megatron grunted as Optimus’s hand landed on something that was decidedly not a cheek. _Forehelm,_ Optimus noted. He slid his hand down, resulting in another gruff noise. _Olfactory sensor._

Digits finally brushed over the swell of a cheekplate. He stroked the warm metal, only then realizing that Megatron had asked him a question.

“It’s a play,” he murmured distractedly.

Silence resumed and somewhere in the back of his processor, Optimus registered that Megatron was probably reading along. 

He was in the sixth and last act. The piece was from a species that seemed to favor this formula for their plays and Optimus had devoured three previous ones. The whole story was coming together beautifully. 

Reparations for the crime were being decided and the protagonist was trying to come to terms with her reasoning for her actions. He finished the last sentence, taking in the unresolved nature of the ending and turned the datapad off.

“From what I’m gathering, the story revolves around a self-fulfilling prophecy. Is that correct?”

The question drew Optimus out of his speculation and he paused his absentminded petting. “It’s along those lines. There is no actual prophecy. It deals more with vengeance, fulfillment and the disillusionment that comes after.”

Megatron nodded, looking intrigued. “A tale about fooling oneself then.”

“Indeed.” 

Megatron reached over him and grabbed the datapad. He turned it on with a flash of light and glanced over the contents. After a moment he deposited it on a side table. 

“It rather sounds like The Sheathing of Fangs,” Megatron pointed out. 

Optimus shuttered his optics in surprise at the mention of a title he hadn’t heard in millennia. The Sheathing of Fangs was a renowned Cybertronian play that told the story of an ever growing feud between two mechanisms and featured a protagonist that slowly descended into madness as he chased his aspirations of revenge. During Cybertron’s Golden Age, it had been shown on stages all across the planet. 

“Though I suppose while The Sheathing of Fangs had a larger theme of obsession, the elements of the relationship between revenge and disillusion are still paralleled,” Megatron continued. 

When Optimus said nothing in response, Megatron bent back over the other mech’s shoulder to look him in the optics. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never read or seen it,” he lamented, a little frown creasing his face. “It’s quite an influential piece. And one of the only ones written during the Golden Age that didn’t propagate functionalist drivel. 

“No, no, I know it,” Optimus corrected hurriedly; then added in a lower tone, “It’s one of my favorites.” 

The frown crept into something Optimus thought was maybe approval. Megatron backed away, forcing Optimus to turn in his seat to see what the other was doing. 

He took several paces away then his body language changed completely. His entire frame tensed: his shoulders went rigid and his arms lifted with clenched fists. 

Megatron snarled, showing off the sharp fangs of his denta. It set off a visceral reaction inside of Optimus and he leapt to his pedes. His processor was a confused mess, labeling Megatron [enemy] - threat, danger and [lover] - don’t hurt; resolve conflict. Optimus felt a slight helm ache come on as it tried to figure out how to respond and fired contradicting protocols.

But then Optimus noticed the rage did not reach Megatron’s optics. Instead, the red pools held a certain playfulness to them. Optimus’s battle protocols shut off, leaving only the strong thrum of his emotional systems. 

“You again? Why must you stalk me like some specter, resentful of a living world you are no longer part of?” Megatron growled.

Optimus recognized the words. They were from the most famous scene of The Sheathing of Fangs. The lines came rushing back to Optimus. According to the quote, Megatron had placed Optimus into the role of the protagonist; also the villain depending on how the story was read. 

Taking an immediate liking to the game Megatron was initiating, Optimus forced his expression into a glower and got into character. “You call me a specter when it is you who haunts my halls,” he snarled. 

“Your halls?” Megatron cried in outrage. “You are in my home, Bight.” 

Optimus looked around wildly as if he wasn’t sure where he was. “Liar!” He rushed forward and grabbed Megatron by the collar faring. “You lie about everything, Parapet. That’s the only reason you have the Prime’s favor- favor that should be mine!”

The strangeness of saying that line when he himself had been a Prime was not lost on Optimus. Megatron shoved him away and Optimus purposely exaggerated his stumble.

Amusement briefly crossed Megatron’s face, but quickly flickered out, replaced by false disbelief.

Optimus quickly scanned the room for a suitable prop to carry out the rest of the scene. In the corner lay a pile of scrap metal and spare parts. Optimus dashed over and pulled out two bent pipes.

He threw one to Megatron, who caught it. Then Optimus brandished the other pipe threateningly. In a perfect world, Megatron would have already had his weapon on hand, but this would have to do.

“You’ve robbed me of everything,” Optimus snarled. “I’ll kill you!”

Optimus brought the pipe down. It hit Megatron’s with a resounding clang. “Recognition, loyalty, wealth, my birthright, even my Amica. You’ve stolen them all,” Optimus spat as they broke apart. 

“You lost them by your own actions,” Megatron shot back. They moved together, forward and back in a dance with the blows of their improvised swords. 

Another hollow sound of the pipes clashing echoed. “Admit it,” Optimus demanded. “You followed me years before we met, plotting and scheming to ruin me!”

“You’re insane,” Megatron hissed. 

Optimus was about to reply when his pede caught on the leg of a table. He lurched forward, head-butting Megatron hard in the chin and effectively breaking the scene. A grunt of pain preluded their crash to the ground.

They lay in an awkward tangle of limbs. Optimus found his face squashed against Megatron’s chest plating. 

“You always did have a certain grace about you, Optimus,” Megatron said snidely.

Optimus felt his frame heat in embarrassment. “That’s not the line,” he muttered, voice muffled against Megatron’s plating. 

A deep chuckle filled the chest below him as Optimus felt strong hands come up to stroke his helm. “The next line is you stabbing me,” Megatron reminded him, digits toying with the audial fins.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

The hands glided down Optimus’s back. “As I said before,” Megatron rumbled. “I love seeing your passion. Stabbing me would be no exception.”

Optimus snorted at the absurdity of that statement. “But only if I’m passionate about burying the knife in your frame of course.”

“Of course,” Megatron agreed. Your passion is very-”

“Let me guess.” Optimus arched his frame, smoothing his faceplates along the side of Megatron’s helm. “Arousing?” 

He felt Megatron smirk curve against the edge of his face. “I was going to say invigorating.”

“Sure you were,” Optimus said with a contented sigh. He felt Megatron’s hands slide over his aft. 

The teasing fondles continued and Optimus found himself thinking about his Act of Devotion. He needed an idea to make it perfect. He wanted so badly to call this mech his conjunx. 

  
  


_Four hundred years, eight days, thirteen hours, three minutes_

Today was the day. Optimus spent the majority of the morning doubting his plan. Maybe he needed to come up with something better. Thankfully his logic centers reminded him prolonging this would probably be ultimately detrimental. 

The ship’s door slid open and in walked Megatron. His face was set in an irritable frown and his plating was scuffed and dirty from whatever he’d been doing outside. Optimus felt a rush of affection at the sight. 

He lumbered past, clearly on his way to the washracks. He was a couple paces away from the room when he stopped, and as if feeling the other’s gaze, turned his helm. His optics met Optimus’s.

“What?” 

Another overwhelming bloom of affection heated Optimus’s frame. 

“Would you accompany me outside? I want to perform the last act with you.” It was perhaps a strange and sudden phrasing, but bluntness was the best way to get Megatron to comply. Besides, Optimus had never possessed the most skill when it came to these things.

Megatron reset his optics in pure surprise. “Straight to the point aren’t you,” he mused. “I thought you Iaconians were more ostentatious with your displays of love. 

“That’s what they’d have you think,” Optimus groused. “In all honesty, Iacon was a cold place. Putting a lot of stock into romance or even platonic love was looked down upon. If you wanted to court or conjunx someone, you were straightforward, stated your intentions directly and didn’t speak of it with others. The lavish ceremonies Iacon was famous for were more a show of superiority than actual love and were only held by the elite. Most Iaconians didn’t have ceremonies and kept quiet if their partner wasn’t someone of societal importance.”

“So I’m your dirty little secret then?”

Optimus knew the remark was a jest, but indignation still bubbled up in his chest. “No!” he denied vehemently. “Even if we were back in Iacon as it was, I’d never be ashamed of you. Even if the senate deemed us an inappropriate match because of our differing classes, I’d conjunx you any way I could and tell anyone without hesitation.” 

“Anyone, Optimus?” Megatron gave a joking laugh. “That would’ve gotten us in far more trouble than it’s worth. A police captain doing the rites with a lowly miner from Tarn-”

“Together, no one would have been able stop us! We would have done great things together.” The words came tumbling out of Optimus, raw and bittersweet. 

Megatron’s mouth closed and Optimus could see the small shards of regret in his features. Optimus held out a hand. “Accompany me outside?” he repeated. 

A black hand entwined with a blue one and Optimus led them outside to the lake by the ship. It was early afternoon as they trekked across the red ground. They reached the water’s edge and Optimus marveled at where the vibrant purple hue of the sky seemed to melt into the sparkling blue lake.

They stood side by side in front of the water, listening to the sound of it lapping against the shore. Megatron squeezed Optimus’s hand. “A prison with an admittedly nice view,” he remarked. 

Optimus gave a gentle squeeze back. He turned his frame to face Megatron. “It took me a long time to figure out how to say this.”

“One hundred and thirty years,” Megatron deadpanned. 

Optimus resisted the immediate urge to wince. “Yes, well, I never claimed to be good at these things.” 

Megatron’s expression remained unimpressed. 

Optimus soldiered forward. “Like I said, I wasn’t sure how to say this so I won’t.” Megatron’s optical ridges rose. “Instead, I’d like to show you. Will you sparkmerge with me?”

They stared at each for a moment. Then the sudden sound of mechanisms working and rotating brought Optimus’s attention down to where Megatron’s chest plates had split open. In the center of the components sat a brilliant green spark swirling with energy. 

Instinctively, Optimus’s plating split apart to reveal his own spark. It felt as though neither of them moved, but their chests still somehow came together. In a surreal experience, Optimus almost swore he was operating two frames. He could feel it all- two sets of everything down to minor cables and circuitry.

And then the emotions started to surge across the connection. It was so much in one space: his Joy, anxiousness, and remorse; Megatron’s trust, anticipation, wistfulness tinted with shame and love. There was so much love, coming from both of them, mingling and soaking through their fuel lines. 

Optimus began to send what he wanted to express over the merge. He sent his adoration, his respect, his faithfulness. 

He sent the complication of feelings he’d undergone before and during the war: the admiration, the desire for friendship, the uncertainty, frustration, conviction, blistering anger, but not hate, never hate. And now, a vibrant want for closeness and willingness to make a lasting promise. He felt Megatron’s vents hitch. 

The sensation passed between them, melting further until neither could tell which thoughts and emotions belonged to whom. It was that lack of individuality that signaled it would be best to end the merge. 

They separated and it took a moment more for Optimus to reorient himself. Once his systems finally differentiated up from down, Optimus sunk down onto both knees, kneeling before Megatron. He clasped Megatron’s hand in both of his and looked up into his features. 

“I don’t have anything of value to give you. I’m not anything of an artisan that can make a suitable gift. I’m no longer a Prime and thus cannot provide riches, power, or social standing. I’m not even the Autobot leader. But when I filled that role, my priority, duty and self were for my people. Megatron, for the Act of Devotion I promise to make you the focus of that duty. I offer loyalty, as much love as you are comfortable receiving and piety.” 

“Piety?” Megatron actually laughed aloud. “You sound like some Decepticon fanatic.”

Optimus spluttered indignantly. “It’s romantic!” 

“Really, Optimus, you could have stopped after the merge. The speech was unnecessary.”

“You made a speech!”

Megatron scoffed. “Yes, but I’m not afflicted by the apparent stunted emotional intelligence of Iaconians.”

“That’s not even remotely-” Optimus was cut off by Megatron hauling him to a standing position.

“And get off your knees. Devotion isn’t the same as deference.”

“I know that,” Optimus tried to protest, but Megatron soothed his annoyance with a kiss. It was long and languid, ending with a wet little noise. 

“Are you not of worth?” Megatron asked against his dermas. “I don’t need you to hand me those things. I gave myself riches, power and social standing. Be by my side as my equal and you’ll have given me a priceless gift. That is all I need for devotion.” 

Optimus nodded, his vocalizer feeling too hoarse to speak. He squeezed his new conjunx in a tight embrace. 

_One thousand and three years, one hundred and eleven days, fifteen hours, five minutes_

A mountaintop drive, that’s what Megatron had proposed. But what he’d really meant was a mountaintop race. It seemed like the volatile idea of some flashy speedster, but Megatron had always possessed a vicious competitive streak.

Their race track ended up being a small mountain range that concluded with one of the largest mountains on the planet. 

Foolishly, Optimus had predicted victory on the fact that his truck alt was faster than Megatron’s tank mode. 

When he’d started driving uphill across rocky terrain, he reevaluated his self-assurance. Megatron’s alt slowly but efficiently scaled the dips and inclines while Optimus’s tires fought to gain traction. 

He struggled and strained to stay ahead, concentrating his attention entirely upon moving, and completely blocking out the scenery around himself. He could see the end in sight and with a final burst from his engine, reached the top. 

“I win,” came a smug voice from beside him. Optimus looked over to see Megatron standing in root mode, chest puffed out in triumph. He held himself confidently; as if the drive had been effortless, but Optimus knew better. 

He could see the small signs: the deeper inhalation from vents, small wisps of steam floating up from the frame, the overworked whine of an engine. 

Optimus narrowed his optics at Megatron. Normally he wouldn’t have taken the bait, but he found himself responding to Megatron's cockiness. 

Before Optimus could let loose a biting reply, he caught sight of his surroundings. Theoretically, he knew they would be high up at the end of the trip. Actually seeing it was another matter. Over millions of years Optimus had the privilege of witnessing the unique beauty of countless planets. Still, he was mesmerized by the sight. 

Miles of land flowed out from where they stood. It started with mountainous rocky terrain at sharp angles. The further down it went, the more it softened in both inclination and texture. Mountains became hills and hills flattened into all types of land.

It was spread out before them: grasslands, deserts, canyons, plateaus, woodlands, valleys, lakes. All of them so different, but still a part of the same planet. 

It hit something deep inside Optimus’s spark. They were all facets of some larger organism and tens of millions of years ago when the valleys could have been rivers and the deserts tundras, they were still all parts of a whole. Time had changed many aspects of the planet, but it was always the same place- the same core. 

_Just like him._

He had gone about this the wrong way: had spent too much time viewing different parts of his life as different identities. 

Orion Pax, Optimus Prime, Optimus- at spark and processor they were all the same being. 

“I don’t have to choose,” Optimus croaked. “I can be and have been a vast many things. Orion Pax is me. Even though the time of Primes is over, that role is still part of me. And now even though I am simply Optimus, I will never just be Optimus.”

The wind atop the mountain whipped past. Optimus reveled in the frigid sensation. 

From his side he could feel the warmth pouring off Megatron; offsetting the chill of the air current. 

Finally a reply left his conjunx. “Does this mean I can call you Prime again?” 

Laughter fell from Optimus’s mouth, causing a cloud of condensation to rise like smoke. 

“If you’d like to. It is part of me I suppose.” 

_Ten thousand and two years, five days, six hours, eighteen minutes_

Optimus sluggishly onlined as bright light activated his sensors. His optics blinked on and adjusted to the sunlight drifting through the window of the berthroom. The window was a new addition that Optimus had badgered Megatron to install. The grey mech initially refused, calling it a security risk, but what risk was there really. 

In the end, Megatron had acquiesced, cutting a long hole into the wall, and putting in a pane of glass like substance he’d made. 

It was a small change, but separated the spacecraft from the artificially lit strongholds that were warships. It made the ship feel more like a home. 

Optimus shifted, then grimaced as the deep ache of arousal made itself known. He rolled over to see Megatron starfished on his back, oblivious to the world around him. Gently, Optimus nudged him in the side with a knee.

There was no response. Sighing, Optimus shifted closer, slotting himself under Megatron’s heavy arm. 

Surprisingly, it was the change in position that pulled Megatron from recharge. Red optics flickered, ultimately settling offline. 

“I can feel your charge,” Megatron slurred as his systems struggled to initialize. 

Optimus ground lazily against Megatron’s thigh, earning a low gravelly laugh. 

“C’mere,” Megatron purred. He gripped Optimus’s waist and pulled him atop his frame. The air was pressed out of Optimus’s vents, forcing an “Oof,” out of him as he landed a little too hard. 

He steadied himself with a servo on Megatron’s shoulder and lifted his hips to give Megatron access. The grey mech onlined his optics, looking at Optimus with groggy delight. 

Black servos pawed at his modesty panels, stroking and coaxing them to open. Optimus however, needed no coaxing in the slightest. He popped his valve panel, feeling a drop of lubricant leave his valve.

Megatron rubbed questioning at Optimus spike paneling, but Optimus shook his head and rolled his hips onto Megatron’s servo. 

Digits slid along the opening of the valve and Optimus’s charge increased. He felt his valve flex, trying to clench down on nothing. A digit slipped inside, penetrating shallowly. It retreated then returned, sinking knuckle deep into the hole.

Optimus melted. He felt himself go strutless as his engine gave a happy thrum. Something between a hum and growl left Megatron’s vocalizer. 

_Everything is perfect._ The thought spiraled around Optimus’s sleep muddied processor. The berth that smelt like the two of them, the warm sun hitting his frame, his conjunx under him and the lazy pulse of pleasure.

The digit came out, returning with a second in tow. Optimus groaned and brought his servos down to Megatron ventral plating. He caressed the edge of the red metal and Megatron gasped sharply. 

“Tell me something,” Megatron moaned against his audial. 

“Tell you what?” The digits moved about, stretching his valve.

“I- everything.” Megatron gasped again as Optimus fondled the sensitive component. “Anything- just want to hear you.”

Optimus snaked his other arm down, crooking his wrist at an awkward angle to rub against Megatron’s panels. The valve covering slid open with the barest of touches. 

“As an enforcer I- Mmm- I always dreamt of space exploration.” Optimus entered Megatron with two digits and began slowly thrusting in and out. “Even with all the planets I’ve seen, that wish was never quite satiated.” Optimus shivered as Megatron pushed deeper. 

“I suppose I wanted to travel on my own terms- yes, there, right there. Instead of where duty took me.” 

An overload coursed through Optimus’s frame. It was a small shallow thing, but no less enjoyable. Optimus’s valve clamped down as his charge dissipated. 

He slumped down, tired, but not wanting to leave his conjunx unsatisfied. He kept his servo moving, bending his digits to get at the back of Megatron’s valve.

Megatron arched up against Optimus, pushing against the weight of the other’s frame. A low bassy moan resonated, signaling Megatron’s release. 

Optimus let himself completely sag onto Megatron's own limp frame. The sound of heavy vents and roaring fans filled the room. A hand moved up and down Optimus’s back: soothing and adding to the perfection of the moment. 

“Space exploration huh?” 

Optimus blearily tucked a servo into the area between Megatron’s collar faring and neck cables. “Yes. I’ve always been drawn to seeing and learning about the life and terrain of different worlds.” 

Megatron gave him a small smile. “I’m not terribly fond of organics, but I admit traveling the cosmos with you has a certain appeal.” 

They fell into silence, Megatron still stroking Optimus’s back. Optimus was on the verge of slipping into recharge when Megatron halted his servos. The break in the sensation jostled Optimus and he looked up questioningly. 

“You know,” Megatron began in a thoughtful tone. “The agreement for our imprisonment says we are to be confined to a planet non-affiliated with either Cybertron or the Galactic Council. Them exiling us to this specific planet was a verbal agreement between the Cybertronian council, which is why I was able to effectively manipulate it.”

“It’s not in the exile order?” Optimus asked, breathless. 

“No, it’s not in writing and thus, nonbinding, which means-”

“Traveling to other planets wouldn’t necessarily violate our sentence,” Optimus finished, wonder coating his words. 

Megatron resumed his ministrations. “All we would need to do is figure out how to disable the flight lock they put on the ship, synthesize proper fuel and reinforce that window you forced me to put in.”

“But is it right?” Optimus interrupted. “This is supposed to be a punishment- a way to do right by our species, and here we are finding loopholes to a frankly, just sentence.” 

Megatron was quiet for a moment, clearly mulling the question over. “It doesn't change the nature of our situation, just the location,” he decided. “Think of how many civilizations fall under the jurisdiction of the Galactic Council and Cybertron combined. The majority of planets that fill our criteria are void of intelligent life, same as this one. Isolation is our sentence and isolated we will still be.”

“That is true,” Optimus admitted.

“And they won’t even have to know, Prime.” Megatron bent his helm down. Optimus reached around, pulling Megatron in so their forehelms pressed together. “This can be our home base. No one checks up on us until we ask for energon. We’ll communicate as usual to not generate suspicion and travel; always returning here.”

It was a little more happiness for the two of them. _Perfection,_ Optimus thought.

_Fifteen thousand, one hundred and six years, two hundred days, sixteen hours, nine minutes_

When Megatron had said, ‘All we have to do’, Optimus assumed their preparation would be straight forward. Instead they were faced with the infuriating tasks of breaking the ship’s engine lock and creating ship fuel. 

And while Optimus considered himself good with computers, he was no specialist. The lock was very clearly the work of one such specialist. Similarly, there was a reason chemists were the ones to lead the production of spacecraft fuel. 

For centuries, Megatron struggled figuring out the formula, ingredients and process. There was no Shockwave to direct him this time around.

But as hard as it was and as long as it took, they had done it. The engine lock had been disengaged and the tank was fully fueled with extra stored on the ship and in the building with the synth energon. 

The navigation system worked well. It possessed a record of many planets as well as their affiliations and basic conditions. They’d activated it and set it to map a course to a nearby uninhabited planet. 

“Are you ready?” Megatron asked.

Optimus smiled. “Yes.” He took Megatron’s servo and they boarded the ship hand in hand. 

It was only once they were in the control room that Optimus noticed the constant influx of data to his systems had ceased. 

That little quirk of Cybertronian biology: When anxious, unsure, or simply waiting for something to occur, the chronometer would give information without prompting. 

Optimus looked at his conjunx and then at the map on the navigational system. He wasn’t waiting for anything any longer. The boundlessness of the future was stretched out before them. Optimus started the ship and took his first step into eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap guys! I hope you enjoyed and look forward to seeing you in another fic!


End file.
